Close
by achildofthestars
Summary: Oneshot. She’d be lying if she told herself that she didn’t still think about him. Every time she saw his face, heard his cane, felt his presence, it was there. It always had been, hadn’t it? That almost something. HouseCam.


**A/N: Disclaimer! Fox/Shore own House M.D.**

**And this just came to me. It's really about how close and far away Cameron and House are. **

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She'd be lying if she told herself that she didn't still think about him. Every time she saw his face, heard his cane, felt his presence, it was there. It always had been, hadn't it? That almost something. In the beginning, she hadn't known what was in store for her. He'd been a damaged, broken soul that needed a loving, helping hand to guide him on the path to happiness. And now, she knew almost exactly what there would have been. He was a damaged, miserable, broken soul, and that was just fine.

Unrequited love at its finest, their relationship was never quite real in any way, shape, or form. She'd been the employee, the student, the girl. He'd always been the employer, the teacher, the man. And yet, somewhere between it all, rare and unbelievable in the aftermath, it had had the chance to exist. On one hand, she could count the heart wrenching moments that broke what could have been. Him. Her. Stacy. Chase. Cuddy. Wilson. Even Foreman. They'd all played a part in shattering the barely visible, newly made web of something she could only think to call hope.

After six years, she wasn't afraid to admit that part of her still wondered about the 'what if?' Would she still love him? Would he love her? Would she have ended it? Would he? Would they be living together? Would they have a child? Would they murder each other? She let herself think these thoughts. There wasn't any harm. She'd never been the type to shun perspective however worthless it might be. It was fine to walk in the world of the fake based upon the real every once in a while.

She didn't do this often. The time had passed between them, taunting and berating each of them, and now it was gone. That was that.

So, here she was. Alone at her own going away party, the cake destroyed and the flavored drinks littering the table without necessity. She'd almost changed her mind when Cuddy had asked her to wait a few more years for the assistant head job in the Immunology Department. The word 'fine' had begun to take form when she suddenly stopped. Her tongue, ready to make a firm decision, ready to say out loud that she wanted to be here, just couldn't say it. She actually choked on that one word, not realizing that she'd finally taken a step away from the edge of the cliff.

Speaking of the cliff. She leaned back in her chair as he sauntered in, the cane clicking cautiously against freshly waxed tile. Sometimes, she wondered if he knew how close he was to that place of no return. The place that would claim him if he wasn't careful and held onto something nearby, namely Wilson. What was the place? She didn't know the answer to that. She just knew everyone had that dark place, a place that would essentially suck you in, making you who you are and never could be at the same time. A circle that never quite met at the ends.

"Eat the whole thing yourself?"

"You know I didn't. What are you doing here?"

It was a good question, this he knew.

"Cuddy thought I should say goodbye. She seems to think I can't live without you."

The sardonic smile threatened to break into something like sadness. She let the chuckle out so it wouldn't.

"That's absurd."

"That's what I told her."

"Here." She reached over the table for a paper plate and a fork, not realizing he'd scooped up a sizeable chunk of vanilla cake with cream frosting.

"Only civilized people need plates."

When he'd swallowed the last bite, the silence which invaded through the sounds of the E.R., didn't scare her. They'd been at this place before, many times. Except this time, she was sure it was the last. The heaviness of the thought tiptoed across her mind, wavering, but not quite falling. It never seemed to change with them.

"Well, I said good-bye. I guess my duties are fulfilled."

She waited for him to move; he didn't. Looking at him, she felt herself walking ever so closer to the dream. She'd always had it, and it always involved him. The dark force, she'd been drawn to him from the first. She'd known to keep her distance for her survival, yet every time around, she found he was just a smudge bit closer. He'd burned her the first time she flew close to him. After that, she knew better, but it couldn't stop her.

"You broke me," she said matter-of-factly, nearly bordering on accusation.

Taken somewhat off guard, he leaned on the back of the chair in front of him.

"You're still in one piece."

With a breath, she stood shaking her head.

"No, I'm not." Her fingers tapped the table, bridging the gap between nervousness and weariness. "I am not the same woman who walked into your office six years ago, hoping you'd pick her to be a fellow. Which," she paused hesitantly before nodding her head softly, "is a good thing. You crushed my naivete, ridiculed my beliefs, kicked my heart, mocked me for deluded compassion."

She took a step away from the table, closer to him, closer to something that never left her.

"And I'm a better doctor for it. Thank you." One hand fell down to her hip while the other brushed back the shadowy wisps of her hair.

"You don't--."

"But I'm not a better person for it. You stripped away my thoughts, and I've been rebuilding them ever since I resigned the last time. I don't even know what it is I want anymore. Everything I thought I wanted, I didn't. What I thought was true, wasn't. And what I needed to believe in, I can't quite believe anymore."

In her mind, she was never going to tell him anything more.

Would it make him happy to hear that as a child, she was the golden child? Loved by both her parents and older brother, she'd never known anything bad existed beyond her role. She was the young Buddha, ignorant, young.

Would it make him happy to know that her mother died when she was fifteen of pancreatic cancer? She'd watched her father 'pull the plug,' and had never quite been able to capture who had been before.

Would it make him happy to learn that when she was in fifth grade, she ran into a not so popular girl in the school hallway? It was a life changing moment for her. When her girlfriends had stepped up, their perfect hair with their right clothes and fine figures, she'd realized the other girl was right. She was a stupid, popular, snob.

Would it make him happy to realize her father had committed suicide with a twenty year long obsession with alcohol and depression? He'd died without her brother there. All she could think of was that this man had once taught her that the right thing to do, no matter what it is, is the only thing to do. It was before her mother had passed, during the time of summer picnics and swimming in July at the lake.

Would it make him happy? Never.

Which was why she walked even closer to him, not able to keep the distance between them because of the invisible net that just sometimes was strong enough to hold them both. She looked up at him, searching for what couldn't be found since he didn't possess it.

He didn't have a clue as to why she had to eliminate the space that was always there. Whenever they were together, she always did that. It annoyed him, but he didn't fight it. It made him miserable, knowing he wanted to touch her while also knowing he couldn't.

The memories of him flooded her senses. She walked the fine line of hurt and trust that guided them. It pulled her to the edge, her balance slowly coming undone in the hopes she would fall and he would catch her. She didn't want to fix him. She wanted to make it bearable. He was miserable, and she just wanted to take some of it away, to carry some on her shoulders so he wouldn't have to.

His breath began to tickle her face, and she briefly wondered why he hadn't moved away from her. Had he become stuck, just like her, wanting to jump over the cliff to see what was at the bottom? In his eyes, she saw his barrier, stern and steady, commanding and overwhelming. She'd always wanted in. She'd wanted to know what it felt like to have him chuckle against his will as she ran her fingers over his side.

"House..." she closed her eyes as she leaned in closer to the scent of him. There was so much to be said, so much he should know about her, and she wanted to break. And then the web broke. He would always keep her at bay, hovering at the point where indifference met like which met love. And she would always need more.

The line, that imaginary line made of side-walk chalk, the one she thought she'd want to cross, suddenly became real. And in that instant, she knew she could never do it. Crossing it, jumping over the ledge with nothing to break her fall, would end up making her like him.

She rested a hand on his chest, the warmth out of place and haunting. She took a step back from the ledge, pulled by some saving hand, not wanting her to sacrifice herself. She took a step back from him, broken enough without him.

They'd always come to this. Teetering to the brink of this way or that way, love or hate, want or need, and somehow they'd held their precious balance, keeping everything unsteady and shaky. Now they've fallen from the tight wire, and where they fell, neither of them knew.

She smiled, one they both knew hid the not quite real emotion that remained tethered between them.

"Happiness is overrated. Good-bye, House."

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**A/N: I know, it kinda doesn't make sense does it? But from what you can make out of it, what did you think? I'm really curious considering I myself don't think of this oneshot as anywhere near my best work, it's ...foreign to me even though I wrote it. **


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